Dandelion Sky
by Clover Kisses
Summary: Anya Braginskaya: a young girl with a large and gentle heart, eager to love and be loved in return. Desiring a brighter future, and some friends, she leaves for the US. A timid freshman, she is teased by many until a certain student council president comes to the rescue… [College AU - Nyo!Rusame, one-sided USUK]
1. Stupid Little Girl, I've Spent my Wishes

**Dandelion Sky**

Desc.: Anya Braginskaya: a young girl with a large and gentle heart, eager to love and be loved in return. Desiring a brighter future, and some friends, she leaves for the US. A timid freshman, she is teased by many until a certain student council president comes to the rescue… [College AU - Rusame, one-sided USUK]

I hope you enjoy!

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><p><span><strong><strong>

**I - Stupid Little Girl, I've Spent my**** Wishes**

Her mama always told her to never fall in love young.

The strong-willed and dark-haired woman sat across the kitchen table, fixing a dark green handkerchief that wrapped around some silverware. When time wasn't her enemy, the frail body once turned some heads some years ago. Those dark eyes, highlighted by deep, black semicircles, knew of the many dangers love possessed. First was a blissful, deceiving blindness so crippling to even the wisest man - then a madness, plagued by obsession. A drive - a focus so fleeting yet impractical. Love always claimed their soul and left one barren, and this was the case for the young girl's own dear mother with the girl's absent and selfish father.

"Дорогая, Anya..."

The girl's amethyst eyes softened in pity, bearing witness to her lifelong caretaker slowly fade away as she struggled with her own name. Anya had just recently arrived back home from university thousands of miles away, leaving for home in a matter of hours after she received a frantic phone call from a distant cousin she hadn't heard from since living in Moscow. She knew for certain she would return to this place once filled with early, warm memories with her sisters. But now it made Anya predominantly uneasy as she couldn't shake off the recollection of a poverty-stricken and death-filled adolescence.

She took note of how her childhood home had changed in recent times. It was truly a blessing for her younger sister to keep her informed of the status of the family home - otherwise, she'd cry from the sight. The walls that were once bright white were littered with cobwebs and even yellowed due to years of her mother's smoking habits. Family portraits of the four that once hung straight were terribly lopsided and dirty dishes laying in the sink flooded over the sink and along the counter top.

Anya shook her head and returned her gaze to her mother who was now stirring some honey into her herbal tea. Pinning a few wayward silky strands behind an ear, the light blonde leaned one elbow against the tablecloth. Her voice wavered as she cracked a nervous smile. "You look so beautiful today, мама. You saw Ирина today, didn't you?"

"Why, y-yes, I have. Thank you," her mother's cheeks became flushed when the girl mentioned her hairdresser and close family friend by name. She tapped the spoon against the rim modestly. "When I heard you were coming home, I rushed over to make sure I looked my best."

"You shouldn't be spending your money on such trivial things," Anya said matter-of-factly, laying the napkin over her pale, dainty legs.

Her mother replied with a flick of her wrist in reassurance. "Don't worry about me."

Such an intense gaze followed by an eerie silence. Even in such a fragile state, her mother was still a fighter, which Anya respected wholeheartedly, because she often dreamed of having such confidence. She certainly had the ambitions but assumed no one was ever willing to lend an ear or give a hoot. The girl couldn't help but run her spoon through the black abyss of the hot tea before her, filling her spoon completely before flowing the fluid back into the cup.

Then it reached her ears, just like clockwork. "Well, how was America? Was it all that you hoped it to be?"

Her lip quivered, and she felt a surge of warmth spread to her fingertips.

"It was good." Anya said flatly, not bothering to look up. She adjusted the scarf wrapped tightly around her neck to give herself some breathing room. Trying to keep face during a conversation about her former temporary home of three years made her extremely uncomfortable. It contributed to the strained relationship she had with her mother. In fact, the two didn't exchange words after she made up her mind to find a better life in the States. 'Why can't you just stay in Moscow and find a good university here?' her mother insisted. Anya remembered the words well. 'Find a good and honest man, be a devout and loving wife, and live a full life.'

But she couldn't settle for that. She wasn't a girl for husbands or babies.

It was true that she loved her hometown and would do anything to keep it in the same condition as in her childhood memories. But this was an impossible task as Moscow's economy plummeted and unemployment rose to unprecedented levels, leaving much of its citizens destitute and hungry. The happy world which Anya knew vanished in a heartbeat's time, robbing the little girl of a stable family and leaving her with a need to find hope elsewhere, which she quickly found in an array of magazines her older cousin brought back from the West. Travel, Woman's, News: the little girl was enchanted by any topic pertaining to this much different world. There were countless large, colorful prints of beautiful islands with vast white beaches and rolling fields of lush, dark green. Anya prayed to one day be magically transported to such places, and wished even harder when her cousin came back from this utopia with a shiny new diamond on her finger...

Her thoughts came to a halt when she saw her mother struggling to keep her head up with her hands. Anya swiftly pushed her chair out from under her and ran to her side.

"A-ah, мама!"

Gasping for air , the dying woman instinctively clung onto her daughter's blouse, too wrapped in pain to register her daughter's words. Instinctively, Anya wrapped her sweater around her mother's bony shoulders, ignoring the soup that proceeded to drip down the tablecloth and onto the floor.

As she helped her mother rise from the table, Anya tried to keep her anger at bay. She should have noticed it then. This very different and distant place never failed to entice even the strongest of hearts with its allure of the fast life. She should have never left Moscow. She was young, and reckless - disobedient and careless. At that time, she did not realize how much her family needed her. Home was where she ultimately belonged, no matter how much she wanted to fight it.

Listless and clouded purple eyes fixated on the sluggish body below. With a soft whisper, she lugged her mother along with small baby steps toward the master bedroom.

"Here, let's get some rest. We can talk more in the morning, да?"

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><p>An hour after tucking her mother into bed, Anya made way to her childhood room. With a flip of a switch, her eyes fell on her neatly-made single bed decorated with the finest, handmade satin sheets her uncle ordered from the textile town of Ivanovo. It was one of the finest birthday gifts Anya received in her short life, as she fell in love with the red and white floral print. Smiling gently to herself, she ran her fingers over the precious stitching. She guessed the bed was still made from the last time she did it.<p>

It had been a long first day back in her native country, and she couldn't wait to jump under those familiar sheets. Throwing a small suitcase on the floor, she pulled out all the necessary items for a restful night's sleep: a long nightgown accompanied by slippers, a hair tie, and her little stuffed white bear with glasses, Ре́биков, whom she named after the famous 20th century Russian pianist. When she finished the preparations, she sat on the bed, dust flying around her after being disturbed. With a few good shakes of the large sheet, Anya managed to brush the rest off and flicked the light on the nightstand off.

Minutes have passed in the quiet and darkened room. Shadows of swaying tree branches danced along the walls, the moonlight flickering in between the spaces. The girl wearily squinted to see the numbers on the small clock beside her: 12:31. She did the math in her head and sighed dejectedly.

Her mind was somewhere far away from Kozhevnichesky Lane, deep in the heart of Moscow. She was transported to somewhere vast and warm, the heavy and humid air filling her lungs. As she opened her eyes, she saw that soft, tanned skin beneath those torn and faded daisy dukes. The light, uplifting smell of fresh linens hung to dry in the country breeze; those baby blues that softened and narrowed when she laughed even boldly and loudly… it was all so beautiful. The blonde clad in flannel standing before her flashed a wide and charming smile.

Anya shook her head. No. The blue-eyed devil was dangerous: the epitome of lust and greed. There were tons of girls in the world so similar, and surely Anya could find something more pure to worship. It was just a silly little thing, a fling of sort - a fling of 3 years. It really wasn't anything serious, ...was it?

Anya turned on her side and hugged her bear tightly against her abdomen. She made a mental note to burn all the photographs resting in her bag tomorrow.

Feeling her heart almost weep out from her chest, Anya pulled the covers over her head and desperately tried to shake any residual unholy thoughts out of her mind. Tears prickled her eyes and threatened to roll down those porcelain, white cheeks. She was a caretaker now, she would have to start thinking like one. There was no time for love with the exception of her family. She would just have to learn to accept it. In what seemed to be hours, the Slavic girl drifted to sleep, falling back into her dream world that was the deep South...

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><p><strong><span>Translations<span>**

Дорогая - dear, sweetheart  
>мама - mom<br>Ирина - Irina, Irene  
>Ре́биков - Rebikov. Relating to Vladimir Rebikov, a romantic 20th century Russian composer and pianist.<p> 


	2. The City in the Woods

**A/N:** Happy birthday to my dude! DDDDDDDDDDDD!

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><p><span><strong>II<strong>** -**** The City in the Woods**

The eighteen-year-old arrived in the States on a mid-August morning. Fortunate enough to only have a layover in London, she took up the opportunity to buy a pack of those light, chocolate-covered biscuits travel magazines raved about. Surprisingly enough, the conversion of money took only a matter of seconds, which made it simple for anyone to splurge on unnecessary things. But for Anya, she only had a few thousand rubles given to her by her much older, shorter-haired sister Katyusha. She had to stretch her funds enough to reach the States.

The six hour flight from England was nothing to the girl who had a knack for reading. Lady Luck was on her side, for she found herself situated beside an elderly man who nodded off several times, giving her enough peace finish the rest of her book of War and Peace. While others around her possessed high-tech tablets that, with just a flick of a fingertip, turned the page, Anya treasured the feel of a physical and authentic book.

When she finally made it to the hot and humid city of Atlanta, she managed to hail down a cab outside of the airport. She was surprised to encounter such hospitality, carrying a pleasant conversation with the cab driver the whole 25 minute ride south of the city. Extremely generous, and lacking a full understanding of American currency, Anya tipped the driver with a twenty dollar bill, in which the man exclaimed in glee and thanked her profusely before driving off.

And there she stood, bags and all, in front of the address scribbled on a ripped out piece of paper in her hands. A strong surge of wind blew her hair and golden sundress sideways, making her shiver. The car drove off and the sound of the engine gradually faded away. Never had she paid so much attention to her breathing as her heart began to race. With a gulp, her sweaty palms curled around her strap and began to move her feet…

The dormitory was a large, off-white Greek-era style building erected by several wide columns of Minnesota dolomite. The main reception area was just beyond a set of large, woodclad French doors with wide glass panes. As the girl walked up the stairs, she noticed how polished the golden door handles were. They shone brightly as the sun hit the building's facade, creating a heavenly aura around the entrance. She grabbed hold of one and opened slowly...

A flash of white surrounded her. It took a moment to adjust from transition of the early afternoon sunlight to a more subtle lighting indoors.

To a certain wavy-haired man, Anya was an angel sent to him from God himself. He gasped at the sight of the young female's long, poker-straight hair that hugged her sides. His jaw dropped considerably. "_Que c'est beau!_ Those womanly curves! Those long, thin legs!"

The door closed on one of her bags as she entered the lobby in a less than graceful fashion. The bag rolled off its rollers, making her wrist twist up. Anya whispered something under her breath, most likely something Russian, and dragged the luggage along its side.

"What is your name, mademoiselle?"

When she finally made it to the registration table, she gasped for air and wiped her forehead. A very short blonde clad in a gray business suit and matching short skirt quietly stood beside the man with a painted smile. She fashioned a small red patch on the sleeve of her right shoulder. "B-Braginskaya. .. Anya. Class D."

"Oh, hon hon! A freshman, I see. Bonjour!" His crystal indigo eyes lit up and sparkled at the astonishing work of art before him. She was stunning! He only wished he could whisk her away and put her on the runway… if only he was in such a dazzling business! The man's eyes became wide as he proceeded to undress her with his eyes. The pigtailed student noticed this, letting out an aggravated sigh and swiftly elbowed him as if it was second nature.

"Don't even think about it, frog!" She hissed, her emerald eyes narrowing dangerously.

"O-ow! Hey!" The older blonde man winced, instantly grabbing at his torso. Anya brought a hand to her lips in a chuckle when he turned to his assailant and began yelling. "Okay, okay! Let me just find her room, can I at least do that?! Now, let's see..."

As he, the man known to his students as Mr. Bonnefoy, searched for the newcomer's name on various sheets of paper, the well-dressed little blonde pushed the glasses back up her nose, the string of translucent beads attached to its sides adjusting along the sides of her cheeks. She extended her hand to Anya and spoke sweetly, as if nothing happened. "My name is Alice Kirkland, the student body Vice President. You aren't from around these parts, are you?"

"Well, ah, no..." Anya looked down at her brown sandals with a whisper.

To Alice, it was surprising to hear such an open confession. Usually a student would be defiant and would at least say they were from Florida, which wasn't half as bad as anything up North. Being a Northerner so deep in the South would be challenging, for there was still some competition between these two very different parts of the country, and neither side understood the other. In fact, Alice believed there was a mutual, disinterested feeling of learning about the other. What was more interesting to the Vice President was that a Northerner was interested in HER school. Out of all the many universities in the country, this girl chose this one in Atlanta? What was she up to, anyway? Alice bent at the half, adjusting her frames once more, and studied the, unbeknownst to her, Russian beauty.

"Hmm..."

Quiet chatter filled the room, originating from the round tables just behind Anya. "Yankee... there's a Yankee in class D?!" A girl gasped to her friend. "She's so pale! ...Is she sick?!" Another whispered with concern. Anya could only pick out a few English words and phrases before she became nervous and wet with sweat, losing the ability to decipher the language. Within seconds, all turned to a mush of ineligible syllables. Her shoulders rolled forward as she tried to not make any eye contact. 'Yankee'... Did they mean the same phrase she read in the books about the American Civil War? She felt overwhelmed and confused, but knew from their reactions that the term was not necessarily a compliment.

Alice cleared her throat, grabbing a hold of Anya's cooler and delicate hand. "Well, No matter. You're always welcome here in the heart of the South!" She gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Anya cautiously smiled in return.

Mr. Bonnefoy jumped up. "Ah! Found you! It looks like you will be rooming with the lovely Ms. Williams!"

"Williams?" Anya blinked, looking back at Alice.

The Vice President relaxed her grip and instinctively snatched the papers out of her teacher's hand. He relaxed, feeling the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as her eyes skimmed down the page. "Yes, it says here a sophomore but I cannot recall the face..."

_Ms. Williams._ Anya hoped she was a nice person. She slid her fingers through each other, secretly praying for this Ms. Williams and her to become good friends. It would be nice to have someone to rely on in this foreign place… maybe this girl liked to go to the movies, too? Maybe they could have movie nights, long heart-to-heart talks at 4-in-the-morning, or especially spa days, because she really enjoyed those with her sisters back home...

When she looked back up, Mr. Bonnefoy was, once again, up to no good. He now sat on the table, legs crossed, somehow managing to balance his weight on the wobbly surface. Almost magically, he presented a fully blossomed red rose in between his fingers. "What's a pretty girl such as yourself doing in such a dismal place..? Tell me, my blonde goddess..." His voice was smooth and heavy.

Anya gasped, hesitant at first, but then began to reach for that lovely rose. She always appreciated a well-formed flower...

"Gosh darnit, frog! Git outta here! Git!" Alice flew right up on him, her arms flailing about and hitting him with the rolled up list. Anya made sure to take a step back to let the little blonde do her work, for it looked like this was routine for both of them. For as old as the man looked, he sure did scream like a female.

When the dust cleared, Alice once again cleared her throat and flipped her collar up only to crease it back in place. She brushed off her suit and began to collect a few items from various small wooden slots in the wall behind her. Anya couldn't make it all out, but thought she saw a set of keys, a green patch similar to the one on the blonde's arm, and some additional pamphlets.

With a twirl, her green eyes met hers. "Well, I reckon we'll be on our way. Come along now."

Anya nodded. "Thank you-"

" -ma'am."

"Yes, m-ma'am.."

There was more scattered chatter and an exchange of glances in the lobby. She looked back to see the once jubilant Mr. Bonnefoy sprawled out on the tile floor. Alice, being a tiny girl, had deceiving looks: for she had a demented and violent side. Anya took a mental note of this to be careful around the small and volatile Vice President. If she was this bad, God only knows how crazy the actual President was!

After a very quiet and tense elevator ride to the second floor, the two made their way along the velvet red carpeting of several narrow hallways. After about three minutes of wandering, they stopped at a specific door on the righthand side near the window at the end: 237. Unlike the other doors in the corridor, this one had two large, rectangular index cards below the numbers. One was colored beautifully with pinks and reds, fashioning several sketches of white bears and hearts. It was labeled "Maddie" in bubble-letters. When she turned her head, her eyes followed, and she felt a warm sensation form in the pit of her stomach. The second card was just as decorated, but with shades of blue. Markered in was a familiar name: "Anya", in an impressive cursive with doodles of hearts and daisies scattering across the paper.

Alice was also impressed. She turned to her guest with a generous smile and rested a hand against the frame, leaning forward. "Here we are! If you have any questions, just let me know! I'm a floor above you in 309."

A high-pitched chirp sounded, Alice instinctively delving into her suit pocket and pulling out her phone. A sparkle could be seen in her eye when the message finally loaded.

_[ HungryyyyYYYY! WHERE R U?! R u tryin to kill me?! !#* * ]_

Anya traced her fingertips along her name. Did the school prepare such namecards? Who else would be aware of her arrival? Many questions were unanswered, but the girl couldn't help but feel overjoyed and flattered. It was peculiar, but all of her anxieties and homesickness seemed to vanish at the welcoming gesture.

The blonde texted something fast with a dreamy smile. "Oh, you…"

"..?" Anya blinked. The Vice President wasn't that shade of red just a second ago.

Alice waved it off and laughed. "Nothing! Darn, I almost forgot!" Juggling her phone in one hand, she fished for something else in her pocket, and eventually pulled out a keyring with two small silver keys. With a jiggle, she placed it in Anya's palm. The Russian simply smiled.

"Спасибо! I m-mean… t-thank you!" The girl's curiosity was instantly replaced by a newfound warmth in her heart. Finally, after years of wishing, hoping, and praying - Anya had a place of her own, and in such a warm and sunny place. She was so delighted, she wanted to give Alice the biggest hug in thanks! Before she knew it, the flustered blonde was already halfway down the poorly-lit hall.

"Err… okay. Well, have fun and again… welcome!"

Anya was astonished. With such progress, the little sophomore must have been in a hurry.

Anya shrugged it off. Now was the moment she'd been waiting for. After months of saving, this was the moment of truth. This was her new life, no more was she a citizen of Moscow. No more was she her mother's - or anyone's - property. Butterflies attacked her stomach, and pins and needles plagued her fingertips. A high-pitched hum interrupted her thoughts as the moments drew near.

Trying to keep a hand steady, she inserted the silver key. When it was fully sheathed, she turned the knob with a deep exhale. The door opened slightly with a long creak to another dark, but much smaller, hallway. Her large, lilac eyes followed the left wall and to the source of some dim light at its end. She could only make out a projected shadow on the wall near the ceiling that quickly turned its head at the noise.

"I thought you'd never come," the shadow confessed.

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><p><span><strong>Translations:<strong>

Que c'est beau! - How beautiful!


End file.
